


Exiled Goddess

by writingramblr



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, F/M, Genderswap, Inspired By Tumblr, Jane Foster as the Exiled Goddess, Thor as the Outcast Scientist, Thor is John Foster, based on a tumblr thingy, character meme, i called her sif cause it was easier, lokane - Freeform, started out as fosterson, turned into slight lokane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:15:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this tumblr post:<br/>http://dawnofthedusk.tumblr.com/post/28945032511/</p><p>Sif(Goddess!Jane) causes a bit of trouble when she strikes the crown Prince of Asgard, and the AllFather banishes her, until she can be trusted to return.<br/>She has a trip to Midgard, and after her crash landing, meets Astrophysicist John Foster(Mortal!Thor) who takes care of her (as much as he can) for the next couple days.</p><p>She doesn't stay on Midgard, but has to return to Asgard and set things right. </p><p>Meanwhile, Loki has his own plans for revenge against the rogue Goddess.</p><p>(*may* have sequel later but for now is stand alone and complete)<br/>the story was supposed to be Fosterson, but as mentioned, sorta took a turn for Lokane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sif was exhausted, but gloriously so. Her body and muscles ached from the chore of battle, and her armor became heavy quite rapidly as her war fueled haze of adrenalin faded.

Now it was time to feast and celebrate with friends.

No one blinked an eye when Volstagg downed several tankards in under an hour.

When Prince Loki tossed back a near barrelful of ale, Fandral laughed and clapped him on the back.

Sif meanwhile, was sitting off to the side, rather quiet, slowly but surely finishing off an entire barrel all by herself.

When she drained her final mug, she held it aloft before tossing it down to smash it on the stone floor.

“ANOTHER!” She yelled, and her warriors turned to look at her in confusion, as did Loki,

“What?” she blinked in wide eyed innocence until they noticed the empty barrel rolling out from under her table.

“Oh that…well, that was just the beginning of my thirst.”

Volstagg laughed and clapped her on the back,

“My lady. I think I must confess I poured several mugs from your barrel. So you have yet to truly finish one.”

Sif arched a brown eyebrow and moved to stand with one leg on the bench beside him,

“What? Is that a challenge? I could drink you under the table, and you! Don’t laugh Fandral. You know I could.”

She pointed a steady finger at the blond who wisely chose to remain silent.

Volstagg was seconds from agreeing with her, but still asking her to drink another mug, when Loki spoke.

“Don’t lie to me Sif. You’re a lightweight, admit it.”

The dark haired prince’s eyes sparkled with the telltale sign of mischief, but Sif was beginning to feel her drink, and suddenly filled with righteous indignation.

She took a half step in his direction, and swung her hand into his smirking face.

The resulting slap echoed about the dining hall, and everyone down the table fell silent.

All eyes were on her, for she had just struck the Prince of Asgard.

“Care to repeat that for everyone?” She asked him, gripping his chin in her offending hand, and he shook his head just slightly, and the mirth melted from his face. Her free hand fell to her scabbard at her belt, for although she had removed her armor, it still held her sword.

“Good.”

Sif stepped away from Loki, and began to walk out of the hall.

It took a few seconds longer than normal, as the floor seemed to be moving underneath her feet.

She wasn’t about to admit it, but perhaps Loki was right.

Damn him.

***

She made it halfway to her room, when a dark figure stepped in front of her.

“Move, lest I strike you where you stand.”

Her voice sounded a bit fuzzy and garbled, but to the stranger in her path, she almost appeared threatening.

Luckily it was Heimdall, and he was used to empty threats.

“Sister. Please, stop this. Come with me. Odin wishes to speak with you.”

Sif burst into a fit of giggles at the realization that it was merely her brother, the gatekeeper to Asgard.

“Shouldn’t you be at your post? Watching the stars?”

She reached up to cover her mouth and hide her laughter, but Heimdall saw her legs begin to wobble, and he scooped her into his arms before she fell, and made even more a fool of herself.

“Not at the moment. Something much more important has caught my attention.”

 

Odin was not angry with Sif, in fact, he hardly blamed her for what she had done. Still, it didn’t do to have his son and one of his finest warriors sparring off the practice field.

“Lady Sif, I’m afraid I must make the difficult decision to banish you for a while. Until you have returned to your sound mind.”  


Sif was too busy staring at the Bifrost, and the very stars she mocked her brother for always watching, and heard only background chatter. They were quite hypnotizing while she was in such a state.

Heimdall smiled at her, and turned to Odin,

“I think I know just the place.”

The Allfather nodded, and began to leave,

“Just…make sure she doesn’t harm anyone.”

Heimdall nodded,

“Of course my king.”

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crash Landing!

John Foster was simply driving home from his latest trip out into the desert, checking a cluster of long range sensors, hoping to pick up any sort of foreign energy signatures, desperate to prove his Einstein Rosenbridge theory, when suddenly, a bright flash of light appeared half a mile before him, and while it startled him, it also excited him.

Perhaps this would be some clue for his theory!

When the light began to fade, and he pulled right up to where it had been concentrated, he could barely see a thing. His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness once more.

A loud thud sounded, and he nearly had a heart attack.

“Oh god. I’ve done it. I’ve killed a desert fox.”

Not exactly an endangered species, but a creature John had been noticing during his daylight trips.

He braked to a stop, put his van in park, and jumped out the door.

He wandered only a few paces before he saw something that stopped him dead in his tracks.

A woman was lying on the dirt, dressed in an odd outfit, reminiscent of a renaissance fair.

She was moving just barely, and he was at her side in an instant, gently reaching out to touch her face, feeling for any cuts or bumps.

He had hit her, he knew that much for certain.

But there wasn’t a scratch on her.

“Miss? Miss, if you can hear me, please open your eyes.”

John leaned back from her, wary in case she decided to deem him a threat, but when her eyes opened, and warm brown orbs caught his, he suddenly lost all train of thought.

“Oh my head…Who are you?”

The woman asked him, and he couldn’t reply fast enough.

“John Foster. I hit you with my car. I’m really sorry. Are you alright?”

She smiled, and nodded,

“Just fine—oof!” She raised a hand to her temples, and a frown creased her brow. “Alright, perhaps not. I think I should have stopped before that last bit of ale.”

John was confused, but not so lost as to ask her name.

She waved a hand about before replying,

“Sif. I wonder if you could help me to my bedroom. I seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

John’s eyes widened, and though her name triggered a faint memory in his mind, the more important problem was the fact he had hit her with his van.

“Please, let me take you to the hospital.”

Sif frowned again, and shook her head,

“I don’t want that. I don’t _need_ the infirmary. Just get me to a bed.”

She smiled weakly, and stood up, wobbly and unsteady.

John took her arm quickly, and she reached out to smack his face.

At least, that’s what it felt like. John swore he could see stars.

Sif had thought she was reassuring him with a gentle pat to his handsome features.

“Ouch. I’m sorry. Of course. I’ll take you to my place. It’s small, but—”

“Oh sir, you are too kind. I have no idea how far I have managed to walk from the castle. Your home sounds perfect. I am however lacking my companions. Usually my warriors and I find our way home together. They always have my back.”

Sif frowned again, but before John could inquire just exactly what she meant, she had gone limp against him.

She had fallen asleep only three steps from the van.

He had no choice but to carry her the rest of the way.

As he drove the rest of his journey home, he couldn’t help but wonder,

“Where did she come from?”


	3. Chapter 3

The woman, or Sif, as she had introduced herself between snorts and fighting stances the night before, was still lying sound asleep on John's couch.

She had not pressed him for the bed, and he had not offered it.

It was strange enough to have a woman fall from the sky and nearly run over by his half asleep driving.

His guilt and worry about her safety had vanished when she had first mentioned her name.

He knew a little about Norse mythology, thanks to his fellow astrophysicist Erik Selvig, who was of Norse decent.

But he had never had the image of the Goddess of War stored away in his mind.

The small lithe figure of Sif did not fit a normal description of a Viking deity.

Though perhaps her size meant she could slip through most brute’s grips, she still did not appear to be highly muscled.

Unfortunately, his observation time ended quickly, for as John watched from the kitchen, trying to shrink behind his coffee mug, the woman began to awaken.

She slowly stretched, and pushed back the blanket John had placed over her form, and began to fuss with her hair.

It had been in an intricate braid but now she started finger combing it, and looking around.

She spotted him, and like a deer in the headlights, he was trapped.

"Good morning."

Her voice, though gravely with sleep, was quite alluring. She no longer had a drunken appearance, and her eyes seemed to contain a dangerous spark.

He felt a bit more like a _cornered_ deer now that he thought about it.

"Hello."

"Do you have washing chambers somewhere? I am certain I smell terrible.  Not just from the ale. I also could use a new tunic."

She tugged at the tan and gold shirt, and stretched out her brown pant clad legs, wiggling her bare feet.

John gulped and set his coffee mug down carefully, before moving to the mock living room,

"Yes ah, of course. Through there is the bathroom and you can clean up with a shower. I'll see if I can find you some clothes."

He didn't want to mention it, but he was sure that some of his ex,Darcy’s, clothing still hung around.

While Sif tried to figure out the shower, which John could hear her swearing and shouting at, he frantically searched for a clean shirt and a pair of jeans small enough for the woman.

***

While Sif tore through an entire box of Pop tarts under John's cautious observation, back on Asgard Heimdall watched over her from the BiFrost.

He smiled fondly at the image of his sister. She was probably frightening the kind mortal who had found her.

She ate like a man, fought with the fury of a Valkerie, and could drink nearly as much as three women.

Sif was an intimidating woman, even if she was not a true god.

Heimdall knew what Midgardians believed, or at least what their ancestors had, and it amused him to watch the way the mortal observed Sif.

Footsteps sounded behind the watcher, and Heimdall turned to find a tall dark haired, slightly annoyed prince Loki.

"Where is she?"

The royal hissed, and Heimdall was almost reluctant to tell him. But he was bound to serve his royal family.

"She is on Midgard your highness. She recovered quickly enough. I am sorry for your injury. Sif can get carried away."

Loki rolled his eyes, and gently traced his fingers over his face, brushing past the dark shadow of a bruise that still bloomed. He was too proud to use magic to heal himself. Or perhaps he fancied himself a victim.

"Yes I know. I hope she can manage to stay out of trouble for the duration of her visit. How long is father going to make her stay?"

Heimdall did not shrug, but only blinked solemnly,

"I do not know. I was not told to deny her return. When she calls for me, I will answer."

Loki nodded, and turned before speaking,

"Let me know if she does attempt to return. I would speak to her as soon as she arrives."

Heimdall bowed, but the prince was already gone.

He was no fool.

He knew that Loki cared for his sister, in that twisted way how children could fight and somehow manage to enjoy each others company, even if she had nearly broken her hand on his face over a small disagreement.

If he approved of it, he could not say.

Something about the dark haired prince unnerved him, and it was not simply his use and ability with sorcery. For the queen had the same abilities, and he always found himself content to be in her presence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif returns to Asgard...

John fought with himself, trying not to watch to intently as Sif began to figure out the clothing he had found for her. A light blue plaid button up blouse and rather worn out pair of jeans were nothing compared to what she had been wearing before he struck her with his van, but she seemed to be having a difficult time with the jeans.

She was standing in the middle of his bedroom, clad only in the shirt, haphazardly buttoned, and what he knew were a pair of plain white panties.

“Oh for Odin’s sake.”

He heard her mutter, and she pulled hard on the zipper, nearly ripping it from its seams.

John coughed, and then after stepping back, hoping she had not seen him spying on her, knocked quietly on his own door,

“Do you require any assistance?”

Sif looked up, surprised, but grateful, and beamed at him,

“Yes please. What fastening method do these trousers have? It is most bewildering.”

John stepped into the room, and accepted the jeans which she held out,

“It’s this here, the metal ah, zipper. It slides up to shut, and down to open.”

Sif’s eyes sparkled, and she nodded excitedly,

“Of course! I was not moving it correctly. Thank you. By the way, your methods of stealth need improvement. I could hear you breathing.”

She smiled knowingly at him, and gave him a small wink.

He could feel his cheeks heating up, and he averted his eyes from her still bare toned legs.

He had thought she didn’t have much muscle, but her calves and delicate ankles made him realize the error of his assumptions.

“What?”

Sif had caught his staring just a smidge too late.

“Oh, um, do you work out a lot?”

John could have bitten his tongue, but luckily, Sif merely giggled.

“What? Work out? Is that like sparring? Then yes. I do. In fact, I’m thinking about training with Prince Loki more often. My backhand is getting sluggish, and his reaction time is getting slow.”

She grinned mischievously, and John could only guess that this Loki person was a friend of hers.

“So can I give you a lift home?”

John asked her, after she’d gotten dressed completely, down to the laces on her shoes. Those hadn’t been much of a challenge, as they were similar to her boots.

Sif shrugged,

“I doubt it. Heimdall should be ready for me. Remind me where I am again?”

John raised his eyebrows, all these strange names were giving him a headache, and the fact she didn’t know where she was, worried him.

“This is New Mexico. U.S.A.? Ring any bells?”

Sif rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder, nearly knocking him over,

“What realm is it? Regions do not aid me mortal.”

John gulped,

“This is earth? Is that what you mean?”

He ignored the fact she had not remembered his name, and watched as her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Yes of course. You are Midgardian. Lovely to finally visit your home world. I’d heard stories, but it’s funny, you aren’t actually that fascinated with fire anymore are you? It seems you have progressed.”

John nodded numbly, still trying to wrap his mind around being called ‘midgardian.’ He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

And who was Heimdall?

***

John insisted on driving Sif out to where he had first found her, and she didn’t argue. In fact, she seemed rather excited,

“It will be much easier to leave, without being seen by too many other mortals!”

She winked at him, and he suddenly wasn’t ready to let her go.

He had so many questions for her, and he didn’t know if she would even want to answer them.

“Can I ask you something?”

Sif heard the wavering in his voice, and realized she might have been a bit careless. It seemed this man was, well, rather intimidated by her.

“Yes of course. What is it you wish to know?”

She smiled at him, and awaited his query.

John was careful not to look away from the road before speaking,

“How did you get here? And why did you come here alone? And-“

Sif giggled softly,

“Well now. That’s much more than one question, but I like your way of thinking. I came here by way of the Bifrost. It is how we, Asgardians, traverse the nine realms. Why I came here is a bit less interesting. I got into a bit of a tiff with our prince, and his father, King Odin, sent me here so that I wouldn’t cause any trouble.”

Once her mind had been cleared of the entire ale induced blockage, the goddess had remembered all that had transpired.

She couldn’t help but wince as she recalled how hard she had hit Loki.

He’d only been joking, and had not deserved his punishment. It was not equal to the crime.

Her hand was not bruised, but she owed that to the decent amount of rest she had gotten on Midgard.

“The Bifrost. Okay. So what is that exactly? How does it work?”

John was beginning to feel nervous, at the very idea that inter-dimensional travel was real and something that could one day be used.

“Well, it’s rather like a bridge. A rainbow bridge. Except instead of walking, you fly. It always leaves a rune where it touches, sort of a signature. It’s extremely clever, but much too clever for me. My brother Heimdall is the watchman of the bridge. He keeps an eye out for any sort of danger by watching over the nine realms. It was his idea to send me here. So really, I should thank him.”

John glanced over at her, elated at the implication, but still burning with curiosity. At least now he knew who Heimdall was. But King Odin? That was a name that he would need to look up.

“There it is! Do you see it?”

Sif’s shout startled him from his thoughts, and John looked in the direction she pointed, he could now see a strange pattern in the dirt.

The previous night he had been much too distracted by her to notice anything on the ground.

“Wow. That’s amazing. It’s so beautiful.”

Sif nudged his shoulder and he tore his gaze from the intricate spirals and looked back up at her.

“You’re quite strange mortal. I think if you were to ever travel to Asgard, you might cease your ability to speak so eloquently.”

John blushed, and shrugged,

“I don’t know much about you, or where you’re from, but if it’s anything like I’ve been imagining, I bet you’d be right.”

John pulled the van to a stop, several feet from the imprint of the Bifrost, and Sif practically jumped out of the van the instant it stopped moving.

“Don’t wait for me.”

John mumbled, half hoping she would hear him.

“What was that?”

Sif was pacing the runes in the dirt, and she refrained from kicking them, as Heimdall always scolded her for messing them up, he knew she liked to do it simply to annoy him.

She left the pattern for John to study, and she had to admit she got a strange satisfaction from seeing him so giddy.

“Look at the way that, and the, and-Can I take a picture?”

John broke off from his half formed thought sentences and finally realized what he would need to do.

A picture would not only last longer, as the common jibe went, but would also aid any future research.

“Of course. Whatever that is.”

Sif watched as he ran back to the van, grabbed a small black square object, before turning it to the ground, and staring at it through the large lens on the object.

She observed him for a few moments, before lifting her head to call to the sky,

“Heimdall! I’m here now. Open the BiFrost!”

She turned to see John, looking right at her with the black square, and she smiled,

“You might want to step back.”

“Wait, what’s happening?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave for now. I’ll try to come back as soon as I can.”

John frowned,

“Just like that? You’ve only been here a day and a half!”

Sif shrugged,

“And I’ve had an interesting time. But I must return home. I owe Prince Loki an apology, and my brother thanks.”

John’s vision grew rather blurry, and he filed away yet another name to look up, until he realized it was not his eyes, but a rainbow colored haze that surrounded Sif, and she gave him one final smile, before vanishing, along with a crack of thunder and a bright flash.


	5. Chapter 5

“Welcome home sister.”

Sif sprinted over towards where Heimdall stood, stoically holding onto the sword sheathed in the center of the Bifrost.

“Brother! I’m so glad to be home!”

He pulled her into a tight embrace, and she realized how much she’d missed him.

“I trust your stay on Midgard was a fruitful one?”

Sif giggled,

“You could say that. I met a very strange mortal. Handsome, but extremely curious. Endless questions, and even more endless looks.”

Heimdall blinked solemnly at her,

“I do not think you realize how powerful of a presence you have sister. You most likely scared him to death, before he noticed how beautiful you were. Then he fell madly in love with you and could not find a way to express his admiration.”

A small quirk of his lips was the only sign Heimdall was not being serious, and Sif caught it immediately.

“Oh yes! Yes I endeavored to make all the mortals Love me! And was I not successful? You didn’t need to find me in some large city; he brought back to where I came from, without a fuss.”

Heimdall gave her a final embrace before sending her back towards the entrance,

“You should get back to the palace. Your warriors have missed you, and the prince? Well, I can’t say for him.”

Sif smiled,

“No need. I’m sure he’s missed me desperately too.”

***

Loki’s hand curled into a fist, and he sat up straighter in his chair, Sif was home.

He was alone only for a scant few moments before a loud knock sounded on his chamber door.

“Enter.”

He spoke coldly, and before he could think or do anything, the scent of pine woods, and fresh grass permeated the room.

His eyes snapped up to find Sif striding into his room, and he set his teeth before speaking,

“What are you doing here Lady Sif?”

Sif gave him a mock curtsey, and then began walking around his room, stepping back every time he made a move to close the distance.

“Just thought I’d come by, see how you were getting along. There’s no bruise I see. Or did your mother heal you?”

She smirked at him, and nodded to his cheek.

He reached up almost automatically to brush the skin. It was not sore, nor was it discolored, but the echo of her hit was there. He’d finally given up pouting over it and healed it moments after he sensed her return.

He remembered her anger, and the fire in her eyes. It was out now. Her face was full of simple joy, and dare he think it? Apology?

“Yes. Frigga healed me. But do not think it means I am weak. She saw it before I could do anything to conceal it.” The lie came out smoothly, and Sif seemed to buy it without a second thought.

Sif shrugged,

“I didn’t say anything of the sort. I just thought maybe you’d wear it as a badge of honor. How many men can say Sif favored them with her touch?”

Loki unlocked his jaw, and finally managed a grin,

“I think a few men can say that. Maybe more than the women who can say the same about me?”

Sif cocked a dark eyebrow at the prince,

“Women say you have favored men with your touch? Oh my. I have missed a lot. I was only gone, what? Half a day?”

Loki felt anger rise, coloring his cheeks,

“What did you say?”

Sif rolled her eyes,

“Relax. It was just a joke. Maybe it wasn’t the best. Among the two of us, who’s the silver tongued one again? Not I.”

Loki closed the space between them, and Sif barely held herself back from reaching out to slap him again.

His hand rose up to touch her face, and the coldness of his skin on hers was unnerving,

“Do not insult me like that to my face. It is unwise.”

His hand moved across her cheek and down to stroke her collarbone. She remembered she was only wearing a thin Midgardian garment about half a second too late.

Loki’s hand had crept under the fabric and was inching over her shoulder, the twitch in his jaw her only indicator that he was keeping his anger in check.

“Forgive me, my prince. I did not intend to wound with my jibe.”

The room was suddenly a stifling few degrees too warm, and Sif resisted the urge to punch Loki and run. She was beginning to enjoy his tempered attention, but she did not want to push him too far.

His heated look changed to a scowl as his eyes took in her form again, with more time spent on her denim clad legs than normal. Usually they would be shown to flattering advantage in her fitted pants.

“What is this you are wearing? It is most unflattering.”

Sif gulped, and swallowed,

“It was a gift, from the mortal who rescued me.”

Sif realized she had left behind her Asgardian garb, and it was likely still on John’s bedroom floor.

Oops.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much mischief abounds...

****

Heimdall had watched as Sif entered the palace, but from her first step inside, he had lost sight of her.

He knew it was likely a stricter security enchantment by the Allfather, but he couldn’t say that he liked it.

He didn’t have to like it.

Something caught his attention. Down on Midgard.

The mortal who had sheltered Sif during her stay.

Was the young man more attached to Sif than he had thought?

He had only meant to tease his sister, and though she had taken it easily in stride, something in her face had softened at the mention of him.

She hadn’t even given him a name, but as Heimdall watched, and listened, he heard the man’s thoughts as clear as Sif had spoken to him earlier.

John Foster.

He searched for Sif.

He stood directly on top of the Bifrost’s seal, and looked up into the sky.

Almost as if he knew Heimdall was there.

When his mouth opened and he spoke, Heimdall was unable to deny what Sif had remarked upon, this mortal was indeed extremely curious.

***

“Heimdall, uh sir. I know you’re there. Please listen to me, Sif, ah, your sister? That’s what she said, she’s in big trouble. That Loki guy? He’s a prince or something? He’s dangerous! Extremely so! Even if you can’t hear me, maybe you can read my mind?”

John mumbled to himself, “I don’t know if that’s more ridiculous than me yelling at the sky but yeah, let’s go with that.”

***

On the off chance, that the seemingly crazed mortal was right, Heimdall turned his sight back to the palace, pressing past the enchantments that were trying to shroud something.

Something dark.

He could see nothing but darkness.

A momentary glimpse of Sif, her golden beacon stood out his mind’s eye for the shortest of instants, before vanishing behind the darkness again.

Something was horribly wrong.

***

Loki had shredded the plain, unattractive shirt that John had lent her, and it was laying on the floor several feet away.

For some reason, Sif had let him walk her back to his bed, and he was placing kisses up and down her neck, before pressing one against her lips.

It wasn’t that she didn’t _like_ it.

But she felt strange.

As if she’d had too much to drink, when she’d only had a small feast on Midgard, nearly a sunset ago.

She was simply hungry and just imagining things.

Loki wasn’t sitting all the way across the room, watching her with cold eyes. No.

He was right in front of her, actually, more like on top of her.

His hands slithered around her waist, and attempted to undo the Midgardian contraption John had called a ‘bra,’ but to no avail.

“What is this?”

Loki hissed, anger becoming the better of him in his haste.

Sif smiled dreamily at him,

“I don’t know, but I love it. I’ve never felt so…feminine.”

Loki restrained himself from rolling his eyes, and simply waved his hand, conjuring a knife, which quickly ended the standoff between the fabrics hiding Sif’s bare chest.

As if Sif could be called anything other than the epitome of femininity. The Midgardians thought her a goddess.

The air in the room was no longer stuffy, and in fact felt quite cold, and Sif’s reaction was painfully obvious.

“Brrr. Is there any way I could put my shirt back on, and just take my pants off?”

Loki cocked a brow at her, before smirking,

“That’s exceedingly unromantic of you Lady Sif. Let me oblige you, and remove something of my own.”

He leaned back, and pulled off his tunic, baring his own chest to her.

He was quite pale, and very lean, not overly muscled like she knew, or rather, _heard_ Fandral was.

She didn’t know from experience, only from palace gossip.

Sif smiled to herself, remembering how that had been a fun rumor to start.

The idea that she could actually sleep with all of her warriors and still keep her focus. What nonsense.

Hogun had been the only one she’d _actually_ lain with.

The image of the dark haired Vanahein was quickly forced out of her mind by the sensation of Loki fumbling at her pants.

They were a strangely secured contraption to be sure, but Sif was fond of them, as well as eternally grateful to John for providing them, and she stayed Loki’s hand before he took his dagger to them as well.

“Wait just a second.”

Loki huffed in impatience and complied, albeit reluctantly.

He was not sure how much longer he could conceal them from her brother, and he wanted to ensure he got plenty of time with her.

“Never mind that, kiss me again.”

Loki pressed on top of her, and Sif didn’t resist. She rather hoped he would be able to warm her up a bit. Her hands were starting to feel icy, and she didn’t fancy shivering mid-embrace.

She moved her hands around his neck, and pulled him closer, and she felt him snake a hand around her waist, while his other hand slid off her pants.

She’d forgotten she still wore the plain white underwear, in the name of comfort, and Loki was astonished and delighted by the sight of it.

“Well I’ll say, you are full of surprises Lady Sif. First you nearly knock me out in your fury, and now you come to me clad in white like some sort of maiden. Perhaps I will reward you and be gentle.”

Sif frowned under him, and looked at him in confusion,

“Had you planned not to be gentle? You must know I like a challenge. And I am no maiden. Feel free to be as reckless as you’d like.”

Loki smirked at her,

“Very well.”

His hand finished removing her pants, and his deft fingers practically tore off the cotton panties, before they moved up to grasp her hair, pulling her head back to expose her bare neck to his mouth,

“I must first return the favor, and mark you as my own.”

The sting of his teeth scraping against her skin was nothing, but when he laved it with his tongue and kissed it into a soft twinge of pain, she felt rather impatient.

“Forget that, if you need any assurance I’m yours, just marry me.”

Loki was seconds from taking her when her words stopped him in his tracks,

“Are you certain? You would marry me? Without me even asking your brother’s permission?”

Sif smirked,

“He’s not my keeper.”

Loki couldn’t argue with that,

“He’s not. But he is headed this way, rather quickly.”

Sif rolled her eyes, and he felt his anger flare momentarily,

“Then hurry up.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> semi-earning that rating... with LOKANE. heh-heh

Her small body was strong, and though Loki had originally planned on taking her by force, he couldn’t deny he enjoyed the way she spurred him on, insisting on him using said force anyway, and as he watched his clone drive into her, over and over, he almost wished he could do it for real.

But that would be too dangerous. He didn’t want to risk getting her pregnant before they were wed.

Odin would have a field day with that. The fact that Heimdall was only a few hallways away was another problem.

He quickly finished up, and had managed to get Sif dressed again in haste, in a dress he conjured from thin air and a few whispered words around her, and he was ushering her out of his chambers with a swift parting kiss that took her breath away, only a few scant seconds before Heimdall strode past.

***

“Sif! Where have you been?”

Heimdall was astonished to see his sister, so close to the Prince’s chambers, but miraculously unharmed. He had feared the worst. Yet here she was, strolling the halls, in full Asgardian regalia.

Her hair was loose and flowed over her shoulders in dark waves, slightly tousled as if she had been in a stiff breeze.

The dress she wore was dark blue, like the Midgardian night sky, but with silver armor plating covering her chest and stomach.

She looked beautiful, but still dangerous.

“I’ve been having a chat with the prince. All is forgiven. In fact, I’ll tell you a secret, he wishes to marry me. Can you believe that?”

The smile that lit up his sister’s face almost was enough to quell the worry in his gut. So the reason the prince had been hiding from him was to propose to his sister.

Something he may not exactly be thrilled about, but not anything remotely as terrible as he had been imagining.

As the siblings walked down and towards the main hall, Loki sat back against his headboard of his large bed, not bothering to tidy the mussed sheets.

Let them think what they wanted, but _he_ would have the last laugh.

The dark haired prince smiled to himself as he began to recall the image of Sif pinned beneath him, her face alight with joy from his touch.

***

“But why couldn’t he come for just a little while?”

Sif tried not to notice how much her voice sounded like a petulant child.

“Mortals cannot stay in Asgard. They might not adapt to our atmosphere, he could die from your selfishness.”

Odin relayed the thing she had been dreading to think about for the last few days.

Of course for her, a few days on Asgard were more like a month or more to John Foster.

She just wanted to bring him to her realm, show him the sights, and maybe perhaps blow his scientific mind a little bit.

But the Allfather would not budge.

She secretly believed it was because he didn’t want to risk Loki flying into a jealous rage and accidentally killing the mortal man.

Sif smirked at the thought. As if John would die so easily. He’d fight for her. He was besotted by her. It would be sweet if it wasn’t so…it _was,_ sweet. Endearing even. He’d been so protective of her. How had she repaid him? Leaving him behind with barely a goodbye.

“Okay fine.” She huffed out a sigh in annoyance, and compliance. She wouldn’t defy Odin, not after he had been so forgiving of her hitting his son for no good reason except being completely drunk beyond reason.

*

Heimdall knew the king was lying, but remained silent until his sister had left their presence.

“Why do you conceal the truth from her my king?”

Odin was startled by the Watcher’s question,

“She has become far too attached to this mortal. I do not wish to see her suffer and fret over him. What would be only a few years to her will be his entire life. She needs to focus her attention and energy on her world. Am I wrong?”

Heimdall couldn’t argue with the Allfather, much as he did not agree with his method.

“I think that you may regret your decision. But as you said, it is better for her to think of Asgard, and not worry over one Midgardian’s life.”

Heimdall left out the thought he had had about how Odin actually brought this all about, by sending Sif to Midgard.

He also kept the fact that the mortal had communicated with him to himself.

Odin merely nodded, and waved the Watcher away.

***


	8. Chapter 8

Sif found herself wandering the palace, hoping that she would pace the halls long enough to return to the throne room and find Odin in a different mood.

She also hoped to avoid the Prince.

It was an unfortunate thought, but even after the pleasure of his company, she found herself missing, and even wanting the company of John Foster.

Something about him had captured her attention. Perhaps the fact he had not been actively pursuing her? The fact he was no warrior, and so not worthy of her attention?

But she had given it freely despite all that.

She wondered what the doctor was doing. Or was he a scholar? She couldn’t remember. All she could see were those clear blue eyes, and his warm smile…

‘Oh gods.’ She mumbled to herself, was she falling for this Midgardian? What nonsense. She was engaged in an affair with the Prince of Asgard, and practically engaged to be married!

But these were merely thoughts. She had never acted improperly during her stay on Midgard.

Had she?

Suddenly she found herself wracking her brain to make certain she’d never done anything she could come to regret while she’d been ‘banished.’

Halfway on the journey back to the throne room, Sif changed course and headed for the rainbow bridge, and all the way to the end, at the Bifrost, she found her brother, pensively watching the stars.

“Heimdall.”

He didn’t turn, merely nodded his head,

“Sister.”

Sif smiled and stepped over until she stood beside him, and she tried to wear an innocent look,

“Could you do me a favor brother?”

His deep voice answered her, and almost sounded half amused,

“And what might that be?”

“Tell me if you can see John. What’s he doing? How is he? Does he miss me?”

The emotions that she had been holding back spilled out amongst the many questions, and her brother fought back a laugh. It wouldn’t do to encourage further emotion.

“Those are things one cannot tell just by looking. Would you have me speak to him?”

Sif goggled at him,

“You can do that?”

Heimdall smiled at his sister,

“I can do many things. But in the interest of protecting the realm only. You know this. What would you have me tell your mortal?”

Sif blushed. The implication that she somehow possessed any sort of hold over John Foster was ridiculous. But she knew full well if she had any sort of psychic capabilities she would not have left him alone any longer than she had to. She’d be speaking to him every night, and every morning.

By the gods, she had it bad.

From her silence, Heimdall could guess what would need to be said.

“I shall tell him you’re well, and that you wish him the same.”

Sif managed a weak smile, and nodded.

“I’ll see him soon. Tell him that. Somehow.”

***

John tossed and turned fretfully in his sleep. What had originally seemed like an ordinarily strange dream had morphed into something out of the Norse legends he’d been reading about earlier that week. He was walking around a golden hall, with high arched ceilings, and he carried with him a silver hammer, heavy enough in his grasp, but seemingly so heavy no one else but he could carry it.

He felt his hair was long, almost to rival Sif’s and yet tied back, so as not to be in danger of becoming a weakness.

He saw her down the halls from where he was walking, and made to call out to her, but no sound came from his lips.

When he moved closer to her, there was suddenly a tall dark skinned man beside her, in golden armor echoing the architecture around them all.

He spoke, a voice deep and gravely as thunder,

“Sif would like you to know she is safe. Well, and taken care of, as she should be at home. She hopes you are in good spirits and health, and would like you to know she will reach you when possible. Farewell mortal.”

Before he could bother to try and understand the dream logic, or attempt to speak, the image faded into blackness and John Foster was waking up to the grayish light of dawn, alone in his room, and shaky as if he’d been running and then collapsed.

“What the hell was that?”

He asked himself and perhaps the room in general. He wasn’t usually one to have lucid dreams, and this had felt more than lucid, it felt like it had been as if he’d been _there_ , wherever there had been. Sif , and the tall dark man looked as if they were from the same place. If she was truly the goddess of war, who might that stranger be? If he was her brother, then he must be Heimdall.

Perhaps shouting at the sky hadn’t been for naught.

He’d said Sif would try to return to see him again…

How soon?

No matter. He would be ready. He wouldn’t stop trying to find a way to her either.

***

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't throw stuff! I had a hard time finishing this story, i think i simply lost interest in it. so i left it kind of open ended...


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